Like You Do
by sugarplumdreams
Summary: Emma loves him, Killian knows she does. Now if only she would say it.


**A/N:** This monster of a fic is dedicated to Tumblr users: the-lady-swan and captain-kitten for their enabling ;) I love you gals, I hope you choke on your feels :P

**Prompt:**

Captain Swan tension borne BECAUSE Killy knows Emma loves him. And his desire for her to acknowledge it. To be honest with him and herself. He understands she's about as walled-up as a goddamn fortress, and as confident as he is in how she feels, he still wants to hear her tell him. He needs it. _And my headcanon then spirals quickly into them arguing about it and frustration frustration frustration and then finally she just fucking UNLEASHES and pours it all out, her entire heart. and it staggers and shatters him._ _Annnnnnd then sexytimes, natch. _

* * *

**Like You Do**

_No one makes me crazy, like you do  
And no one fixes breaks, like you do  
Like you do, like you do_

_._

_._

She remembers the first time he says her name — the way it rolls off his tongue in his lilting accent as he tells her how they make quite the team. She remembers the way he breathes it as he pleads with her to look at him, to use her super power on him. She remembers how he reverts to using her last name, distancing himself in mind and heart, and she remembers when it all changes — when he starts saying it like a prayer, like his last ray of hope, like his second chance.

_Emma. _

_Swan_.

It doesn't matter which he uses because she is both — his _Emma_, his _Swan_ — but if she's going to be honest, she prefers the latter. She likes how it falls from his lips like a benediction, how he brushes it against her mouth and every inch of her burning skin, how he murmurs it into her ear or growls it in frustration when he's upset. It's the first thing in her life she had ever chosen for herself and it seems important, symbolic, that _he_ — another choice she'd made — call her by it.

He sits on the edge of her bed while she stands between his legs, resting her forehead against his as her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. His hook and hand travel lazily up her sides — molding her, warming her — and she sighs into his mouth.

"You need a haircut," she tells him.

"What for?" he wonders, and she can feel his smile caress over her lips. "It gives you less to hold on to."

Her hands travel down the strong slopes of his shoulders, fingers digging pointedly into his muscled arms. She hums appreciatively and her mouth curves up. "I don't know, I think the rest of you works just as well."

"Is that so?" he chuckles, and the low and throaty sound makes the pull to him intensify, makes her inch closer until her body is pressed into his.

She nods, bumping their noses affectionately together. "Mmhmm."

His breath dances enticingly with hers, mingling in the space between them, and she feels the heat starting to build low in her belly. Her eyes close at the feel of his thumb brushing along the underside of her breast through her t-shirt and she gasps at the jolt of pleasure that shoots down her spine and straight to her core. The anticipation makes her stomach clench, makes something akin to a whimper spill from her mouth as he changes paths and moves his hand away — _damn it_ — away and around to her back to twist a lock of her hair around his finger.

"_Killian_," she whines.

She wants him to kiss her, wants to feel the press of his mouth and the slide of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth, but he denies her, easing down to dip his head and touch his lips to her heart. It stutters in her chest, the surprisingly tender gesture making everything inside of her go soft and warm and light, and oh _God_.

He sighs as his arms tighten around her, as he turns his head to rest against the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and all she can do is hold him back — one arm sliding around his neck while her free hand tangles deeper into his hair.

"_Swan_," he murmurs quietly.

Her breath hitches in her throat, her body stiffening at the myriad of emotions in his voice and abruptly it becomes too much — too much, too fast. She can't handle it so she starts to move back, but then his hand catches her arm, fingers wrapping around her elbow to keep her close.

"Emma," he says, a little firmer as he lifts his storm-blue eyes to hers.

Her heart _aches_, the pain bittersweet while she holds his too-expressive gaze and she can't, she just _can't…_so she doesn't, shaking her head as she bends down to capture his lips with hers. She coaxes him away from the words — _those three little words_ — that hang in the air, that have hung between them since his confession in the Echo Cave. He knows what she's about though, the curse against her mouth tells her that much, but she swallows it and he succumbs — because when had he ever been able to resist her?

She pulls away only for a few seconds, long enough to tug her shirt over her head and drop it onto the floor before grasping the hem of his and doing the same. His hand reaches up to cradle the back of her head when her mouth finds his once more and she wants to cry — it's a simple gesture, one he's done countless times, but she's never felt more cherished in her life. She pushes him gently onto the bed and the fire sparks in their hearts, simmering to a burn as she settles her weight over him.

It doesn't take long for the rest of their clothes to be discarded or for them to fall into the familiar tempo of each other's bodies — the brush of a hand followed by a sigh, the nip of teeth and a whimper, the swipe of a tongue and the gasping shudder after. She can't give him the words but she can give him this. She can love him with her mouth, with her hands, with the sweet, slow slide of her body and as they finally, _finally_ fall off into pleasure-laden oblivion, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, it'll be enough.

She should have known better.

* * *

She storms into his cabin, angrily shoving the door out of the way before marching right up to him and thrusting the stupidly gorgeous bouquet of red roses in his arms. "You have to take these back."

His brow pinches in confusion as his gaze flickers back and forth between her and the flowers. "You don't like roses?"

"No," she replies then shakes her head as if to clear it once she realizes that is _not_ what she meant. "I mean, _yes_- I mean-" Emma sighs exasperatedly, her stomach all in knots. "I like roses, I just- you have to take them back."

"If you like them, why would I take them back?" He contemplates her, lips pursing in thought as his dark blue eyes hold hers. "Would you prefer a different arrangement instead? Perhaps some Lilies? Or Buttercups?"

_Ugh_. _Actual adorable fucking idiot_.

"_No_," she hisses, hands scrubbing over her face while she feels the anxiety beginning to mount. "No, you don't understand. You can't- _you can't just buy me flowers_!" The breath explodes out of her but a little ball of emotion lodges itself just under her breastbone and she can't _breathe_.

Killian cants his head at her, eyes dancing over her face, and as their gazes meet once more and the air backs up into her lungs, heat begins to crawl up her neck and into her cheeks. She knows the exact moment he understands, sees his face soften as he sighs and sets the blooms down before reaching for her.

"Emma, love-"

"_No!_" she all but shouts, effectively cutting him off as she takes a step back away from him.

_Damn it!_ She doesn't _want_ him to understand, she doesn't want him to _get it_, she doesn't want him to touch her — she'll break if he does — and she sure as hell doesn't want him to send her _Goddamn roses_…no matter how beautiful they are and no matter how much they makes her heart swell.

"What are you doing?" She whispers the question, beginning to feel the tears well up behind her eyes. It's there, it's all there — the feelings she's been trying so hard to ignore — right under the surface, threatening to bubble up and spew over and overwhelm her and fucking _drown her_. "What the _hell_ are you dong?"

"You're a smart lass, what the bloody hell does it look like I'm doing?" he replies, his voice impatient. His eyes harden around the edges, not a lot, but enough to send her back up, and when she doesn't answer, he sighs again but it's heavier, more tired than anything else. He pinches at the bridge of his nose before gesturing at the flowers once more. "I was…wooing you."

_Oh God_. She feels trapped, suffocated. "Well…_cut it out!_"

She's not sure if it's the way she says it or the way she looks at him, but his temper snaps something fierce. He moves towards her, eyes ablaze.

"_Why? _Why should I, hmm?"

She flinches at his tone, but pride roots her to her spot. "_Because!_"

"Because _what_, Emma?" he shouts at her. "Why shouldn't I send flowers to you? What is so horrible about wanting to send the woman I _lo_-"

"_For God's sake, Hook!_" She cuts him off before he can finish the word — oh _God_ — breathing labored and painful while her vision hazes around the edges. Panic creeps in, crawls up her spine with icy fingers and makes her restless. She starts pacing back and forth, unable to look at him.

"Oh, so it's '_Hook_' once again, is it?"

She hears the bite in his quiet voice, knows it's meant to cover the pain and she wants to kick herself in the ass. She sighs as she looks at him, her expression remorseful. "Don't, okay? Don't start that, you _know_ I didn't mean it like that!"

Killian's face is stoic and Emma's heart aches. Her emotions are choking her, making her feel unsteady, and as they stand there watching each other, she can't help but feel…_lost_.

She swallows thickly and her voice is soft when she speaks. "I have to go."

She knows it's cowardly to retreat, especially after everything they've been through, but she can't stay here with him, can't be around _his_ feelings while hers rage inside of her like a storm. She can't shake the images of a beanstalk and a compass and a chain from her head and it makes her body throb in anguish as her footsteps carry her towards the door.

"Swan."

His utterance stops her, her hand on the knob. She doesn't turn back, knows she'll fall apart if she does, but her head angles slightly towards him, waiting for him to continue.

"How much longer are we going to do this? Dance around this issue of us?"

It's completely still for a moment, the quiet ringing in her ears. It lasts long enough for her composure to crack and for a solitary tear to slip past her defenses. She hates herself for crying, hates herself for being weak, but she doesn't reach up to push away at the offending wetness on her cheek.

"I don't know," she tells him truthfully, her voice surprisingly steady.

The silence persists, engulfing them and hurting them, and it's far too much for any one person to bear. She yanks the door open and without a parting word, leaves. He doesn't try to stop her and she can't say she's not relieved, because the second the door shuts behind her, she crumbles. She leans against it for support while the hand over her mouth contains the sobs wracking her body. As the tears roll tirelessly down her face, she wonders if perhaps she's just too broken for this, that maybe she's just not meant for forever afters and happy endings.

* * *

It's almost an entire week before she finally musters up the courage to seek him out, and it's not until he opens the door of his cabin and her eyes land on the familiar planes of his face and her body actually shudders, _shudders_ in relief, that she realizes just how miserable she's been without him. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the way his hair is tousled — like his fingers have been running through it in exasperated bouts — he hasn't faired any better during their time apart. Guilt slams into her stomach like a fist.

"May I come in?"

He studies her for a long time, wordlessly, and just when she thinks he's going to slam the door in her face — God knows she'd deserve it — he moves away from the doorway to let her pass through. His face is resigned, eyes wary on hers, and boy does that sting. The room feels cold and unwelcoming as she enters, making her heart ache.

The door clicks quietly shut and she turns to him, hands wringing nervously in front of her. The silence is uncomfortable, in a way that it's never been before, and Emma finds her throat closing up while tears spring into her eyes. _Fuck_, she thought she'd been done crying, but as they stand there with their hearts miles apart, she can't stop them from overwhelming her.

Their gazes hold, words passing silently between them in droves, and before she can take her next breath, she strides across the room and slips her arms around him. She buries her face against his chest and tries to control her shaking while the scent of leather and sea and _Killian_ soothes her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers brokenly over his heart. "I'm so sorry."

He doesn't move, body stiff beneath hers. "You left."

Her lips press together because _oh_, how her heart aches. "I know, I'm sorry." She tightens her hold around his middle.

"Over a damned bouquet of flowers."

She sniffles and nods her head. She wishes she could explain it better but the words get stuck in her throat. "I _know_."

He curses, low and foul, but he wraps her up in his embrace and damned if it doesn't feel like coming _home_. Emma sighs, nuzzling her face into his neck.

"I'm so angry at you," he mutters, but she feels the press of his cheek against her temple as the breath expels deeply from his lungs. "Bloody hell, Emma…I've missed you."

"Me too," she answers, and her lips find the underside of his jaw. "I don't need flowers, you know," she says after a moment while her hand reaches up so the backs of her fingers can rub gently over the scruff on his handsome face. "Or pretty words, or any of that." Her words feel like a lie on her tongue. "I just need you." Except that, that is very much a truth.

* * *

She's burning from the inside out, every inch of her humming in pleasure while he moves above her, _inside_ of her and _God_. Her body is coiled on the edge, shaking in anticipation of that final fall as the heat builds and builds and _builds_ deep in her center. She gasps and moans, clinging to him desperately as he continues his excruciatingly slow pace. _Fuck_.

She's so damn _close_. She needs _more_, needs him to fucking _move_ but he's determined to draw it out, damn him. Her body is so over-sensitized, she feels everything — every inch of him stroking against her, the rough scrape of the hair on his chest against her nipples, the beat of his heart matching the rhythm of her own. She feels the slide of his hand up her arm, feels his fingers lace with hers as he presses her hand into the mattress and she whimpers, she actually fucking whimpers because it's _too_ much and not nearly enough and _fucking hell_.

"_Swan_," he breathes.

_Oh God. Fuck. _She pants into his mouth, hips tilting up in an attempt to create more friction between them. "_Killian._"

"Emma, look at me."

_Oh God, oh God, oh God. _She can't, she _can't_ because she is scared shitless of what she'll see if she does, so she tries to silence him with her lips, fusing their mouths together in a searing kiss. She tries to coax him along, clenching her inner muscles around him. He groans, the sound filling up her chest, then suddenly he's pulling away on a gasping breath, his eyes seeking hers in the moonlit room.

"_Emma._"

She shakes her head at him and he stills his movements in response. She makes a sound of protest, body rocking against his. "Oh God, _no_." She needs her release, needs him to stop looking at her at the Goddamn sun and just _get her there. _"Please, Killian…_fuck, please_."

They're both shaking with need, both breathing hard, but still he refuses to move. He keeps them suspended in that moment for a long time, until the haze clouding her head begins to lift and she can slowly feel herself start to come down from her high. Her chest aches, her body feels heavy, and all she can do is lay beneath him as his lips brush gently over hers.

"Emma, please," he asks quietly. "Look at me, love."

His voice, and all of the emotion in it, is her undoing. She swallows back the lump in her throat and draws a painful breath into her lungs while the tears well up behind her eyes. When her gaze finally meets his, a tear slips onto her cheek and the corner of his lips tip up in a small, lopsided smile as he leans forward to tenderly kiss it away. Everything inside of her warms then shatters and another tear falls from her eyes while they continue to look at each other.

"I love you," he tells her.

_Oh_. And there it is, everything she had been so hopelessly trying to avoid summed up in three words. She doesn't have a chance to recover because he starts to move again and her body comes alive, not only with reignited desire, but with something else entirely. It blooms in her chest, spreads over her like a soothing wave, and Emma can't stand it.

She's helpless, trapped, held captive by his eyes and all of the feelings he allows her to see. The intimacy is too much, the vulnerability is too much, the emotions inside of her are _too damn much_ and as her body rises and falls with his, as it all builds to an excruciating amount, as the tears work paths down her face, she finally gives herself over to the inevitable, taking that last fall with him while the stars explode around them in a beautiful, overwhelming array of light and color.

She comes to with the feel of his mouth on hers, with the feel of _those words_ whispered against her tear-stained cheeks, and she feels crowded, suffocated. She nudges him and he takes the hint, easing gently off her. He says nothing as she turns away from him, curls up on side and weeps silently into her pillow.

His sigh resounds through the quiet room. "I won't apologize for the way I feel about you," he says softly.

Emma doesn't respond, unsure really, of what to say. She hears the rustle of the blankets as he draws them up around them and feels the bed shift as he settles behind her, forehead on her shoulder and fingers lightly holding her hip. A while later, after the tears have long subsided and before she dozes off to sleep, she reaches back and tugs his arm around her waist. He snuggles in closer, spooning her as his hand falls naturally to her heart and her hand rests over his.

"I don't want you to," she murmurs eventually.

The last thing she feels before she allows exhaustion to take over is the nuzzle of his face in her hair and the touch of his lips to her shoulder.

* * *

Emma should have known that unleashing those words would be like unleashing a monster. He wouldn't stop saying them — every chance he could get, every moment he could sneak away with, the words were breathed over her skin and murmured into her ear and kissed against her mouth. She never said them back, or said anything about them _at all_, really — but neither did he. He just kept unconditionally giving them to her and she, for the life of her, couldn't figure out if that made it better or worse.

One afternoon, he drops by the Sheriff's station with a plastic bag hanging from his hook and a tray of drinks in his hand. Her head tilts back from the file she's studying as he comes up from behind and his upside down face swims into her vision. She easily accepts the kiss he drops to her mouth while he stands near her elbow to set the carrier down.

"Iced coffee?" she asks.

"But of course," he smiles. "And pizza."

She sighs contentedly, staring up at him with wide, adoring eyes. "You're my hero."

He chuckles lightly then stoops to press his lips to hers again — once, twice…three times. "I. Love. You," he punctuates each soft kiss with a soft word.

Her stomach clenches and she scrunches her face at him. "How many times are you going to say that?"

"Well," he replies, eyes looking away as his brows shoot up while he ponders the question. "Until you start to believe it…" He smiles her favorite smile, then leans in close. "Or until you say it back, whichever comes first."

Her heart jumps into her throat and she shifts uncomfortably beneath his unwavering gaze. She swallows back the lump, ignoring him in favor of the boxes he's laid out on her desk. "Can we eat now? I'm starving."

"As you wish," he answers, and she can hear the grin in his voice.

She freezes as her eyes land on the drinks in front of her. There's a single buttercup sitting prettily atop one of the lids and she sighs again, eyes narrowing on it. _Smooth bastard_. She never should have let him watch The Princess Bride.

* * *

"Bymm, Mmm!" Henry rushes up to her, Pop-Tart held between his teeth as he quickly shrugs his jacket on.

"_Really?_" Her brow quirks up at him but she smiles when he grins at her and chomps down before pulling the rest of it away and standing up on his toes to give her a smacking — and crumby — kiss on the cheek. "Love you!"

She sighs deeply as she watches him and her heart aches — her sweet, little man. "Don't forget your scarf!"

"I know, I know!"

"And your _toothbrush_!"

He holds up his backpack and makes for the door. "I _know_, Mom! See you on Monday!"

Two seconds later Killian comes hurriedly down the stairs, mumbling to himself and looking around frantically. "Love, have you seen my hook?"

She sips at her coffee, studies him over the rim before setting it down. "Duffle."

He eyes it by the door then turns his relieved smile to her — her heart stutters in her chest. Suddenly he's across the room, arms wrapping around her legs as he picks her up and grins, making the dimples in his cheeks flash.

She gives a surprised little squeak, arms locking around his neck. "_Really_?"

"You're an angel." He touches his lips to hers. "A Savior." Kiss. "My Hope." Kiss. "My everything." _Kiss._

She rolls her eyes when he pulls away but her expression is soft. "And you're running late."

As if on cue, Henry shouts through the door. "_Killiaaaaaaaaan!_"

"Oh, the lad can wait another minute while I give you a proper farewell." He smirks as he leans in and Emma can't stop the corners of her mouth from tipping up.

A horn sounds through her open window from the street downstairs and it's followed by her father's bellowing voice. "_Are we going camping, Pirate, or are you going to make out with my daughter all morning?_"

There's a round of whoops and whistles that sound suspiciously like Robin and Whale and…_Grumpy? _Emma's brow furrows as she looks at Killian in amusement. "I do believe you're being summoned."

He smirks again. "I'm a little preoccupied at the moment." His lips lightly mold the words over her mouth.

Then he lets her have it, closes the distance between them and swallows her sharp gasp. The heat is instantaneous, _unbearable,_ and she can't help but groan as she angles her head to meet him head-on and deepen the kiss.

_Honk!_

His tongues strokes against hers and her hands delve into his hair, gripping for purchase. She's drowning, as she always seems to be with him, but she doesn't care. All she cares about is him and his mouth and the growing need in her stomach — and really, who cares if they just had each other twenty minutes ago while the dawn broke? — and how-

"_Hook, I swear to God, if you're not down here in 30 seconds-_"

He breaks the kiss, teeth nipping at her bottom lip then her chin as he pulls away. "That should tide me over," he smiles.

_Jesus_. Her feet hit the floor with a resounding _thunk_ and she sways unsteadily, hands gripping his shoulders while she tries to clear the fog around her head. "It's just…for the weekend." _Jesus_. Jesus, she can't breathe. "We've had…worse."

He touches his forehead to hers, nudges her nose with his as he laughs lightly. "Aye…still." And he leaves it at that, all of his emotions conveyed in that single remark. "Love you," he murmurs softly.

His words echo Henry's and a jolt shoots down her spine, making her body jerk against his. If he notices, he doesn't say anything, simply touches his lips to hers once more before he eases away, blue eyes meeting green. He looks at her expectantly but she doesn't reply, the silence filling up the space.

He exhales disappointedly as he tucks her hair behind her ear. "Do me a favor?"

She reaches up, sighing again while she strokes over the scar on his cheek. "Hmm?"

"Miss me a little, would you?"

Emma freezes, her jaw dropping open slightly — _oh_. Oh, her sweet, darling man. "I-"

The moment is interrupted when her door abruptly flies open and David comes storming through, narrowed eyes landing on Killian. To Emma's complete shock — and entertainment — David rushes him, stooping low to wrap his arms around his legs then slings him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Killian curses and struggles like a madman, but her father's grip is firm.

"Alright Romeo, that's enough of that." David turns, gives her a cheerful little grin. "Bye sweetheart, see you Monday!"

Emma shakes her head, watches them struggle through the threshold while Killian wails on about 'bad form' and 'insufferable Princes' and 'kidnappings.' The door slams behind them and her apartment is suddenly far too quiet. She leans back against the counter, fingertips brushing over her lips — she misses him already, damn it.

* * *

"Swan?" he murmurs it, voice hoarse and raw as he looks at her with droopy eyelids. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" She presses the cold compress to his forehead and cheeks, making him sigh contentedly.

"Am I dead?"

She chuckles lightly from her seat next to the bed, resting her arms on the mattress and propping her chin atop them. The way his face grimaces tells her he is absolutely miserable. Absentmindedly she touches her lips to his shoulder. "Close enough, you've got the flu."

"Did Henry come and get you then?"

"Yeah," she replies softly. "He came to check on you when he didn't see you at Granny's after school." He makes some noise of agreement and struggles to keeps his eyes open. She doesn't like seeing him like this. "You should have told me you weren't feeling well last night."

"Thought it would pass."

She sighs and brushes the damp hair from his brow. "I brought you some soup if you can stomach it, and some medicine."

"You should go," he says. "I'd rather not infect you with this monstrosity."

"I took a vaccine awhile back." Her hand settles over his arm. "I'll stay if it's all the same to you."

He doesn't say anything for a long time, but he never really needs to. Neither does she. Words pass between them as easily and seamlessly as they always have. After a moment, he scoots over on the bed, making space for her. She doesn't even hesitate, climbing in beside him and wrapping him up in her embrace. He sighs as his cheek presses against the steady rhythm of her heart and her hand strokes soothingly up and down his back.

"Thank you," he whispers, slinging his arm over her waist and tangling their legs together.

"For what?" She touches her lips to his brow.

"Being here."

"Where else would I be?"

There's no reply from him, and for a moment she thinks he's dozed off to sleep again, but then he breathes deeply and startles her from her thoughts.

"Swan?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." The words are murmured against her heart, it aches the most when he does it there, but she'd never tell him. "And I know you love me too. I wish you'd say it back, it hurts when you don't."

_Shit_. She swallows back the tears, the sudden tightness in her chest almost intolerable. She is unwilling to face her emotions, refuses to let even just a little out for fear of what she would unleash, but her arms give him a squeeze and she lays her cheek against the top of his head.

"You need to rest," she mumbles, ignoring the guilt and the pain settling anxiously in the bottom of her belly.

"Alright," he concedes, voice slurring with fatigue. "But we're not done with this."

It's not until his body finally relaxes against hers that she allows her composure to crack. A tear slips onto her cheek and she closes her eyes, willing back the overwhelming sensation of loving someone so deeply and being unable to tell them.

* * *

The following weeks are rough, there is an endless amount of pent-up frustration and tension over her inability to let him in. It's a constant whirlwind, and all of the back and forth, anger and peace, resignation and fighting quickly takes it's toll on the both of them.

The arguments are harsh, not in the words that they exchange, but in the way that he attempts to break down her walls and get her to face the truth she still keeps trying so desperately to deny. Her heart ends up battered after these fights, as does his, but they more often than not tumble straight into bed and heal each other with hands and lips and warmth — _showing _the feelings she won't allow them to say.

Despite all of that, the good days are _good_. It's so _easy_ to be with him, far easier than she ever imagined it could be, and as time goes by that becomes more of a comfort than a source of fear.

He's great with her parents — especially her father, the two are practically inseparable much to Emma chagrin and Henry's delight, since he often gets tagged for guys' outings. He's wonderful with Henry — attentive, kind, caring, genuinely _enjoying_ him as much as she does…he has proven to be an amazing father figure and she can't ask for anything more. And of course he is incredible with _her_…but then he's always been, since as far back as she can remember.

He's become a constant — her True North, her anchor, her light in the dark, her…_hope_ — and she can no longer imagine her life without him, the little weasel. She's still unable to give him the words though. They always end up stuck in her throat, hidden behind the stone walls and electric fences and guard dragons of her broken and scarred heart.

She wishes she can, can never understand why it's so difficult because she _wants_ to more than anything but she simply just…_can't_. She can't love him, not the way he wants her to, and she hates herself for it. She hates her walls and her pain and her fear and everything in her past that has made her so broken because he deserves so much better. She can't help but feel like a lost cause and _God_ does it _hurt_.

* * *

His hand is in her hair, fingers absentmindedly fingering at one of her curls while she reads her book. Her legs are sprawled across his lap as they sit on the couch and there's music playing softly in the background. She can feels his eyes on her, his heated gaze, but she refuses to look up at him — even if she's read the same sentence ten times already.

"Swan," he calls softly.

She senses, rather than sees, the soft smile on his face and immediately it makes her stomach clench. She doesn't answer, keeps her expression neutral and her eyes on the page while swallowing thickly.

"_Swaaa-aan_."

She sighs and resists the urge to roll her eyes — damn him and his adorable, quiet sing-song voice. She's given up on reading but turns the page just for show anyway. "Reading."

"No you're not," he answers, smile widening as he leans over to press a kiss to the curve of her neck while his hook pushes her book down.

Her body betrays her, shuddering under the warm feel of his lips and tilting her head over to give him more access. "Seriously?" Her eyes narrow as her vision blurs and warmth pools low in her stomach. "We just had sex four hours ago."

His lips curve against her jaw. "I will _always_ want you."

"_Haha_." She mutters sarcastically at his play on words of the family motto. "Think you're cute, don't you?"

He chuckles and begins making a trail with his mouth from ear to chin, along her jaw and _God_, how could she want him _again_?

"Oh, I _know_ I'm cute, in fact…you agree. Besides, four hours is an adequate amount of recovery time."

There's a smart retort on her tongue, but she makes the mistake of turning her face to his to give it to him — it's not a lot, but it's enough and his mouth abruptly finds hers, silencing her protest. She sighs into him, into the always waiting warmth — you give the man an inch and he takes a damn mile. _Stupid pirate_.

Her book shuts close and she simply tosses it away, along with her restraint, as she moves over him. She never breaks contact while she turns and straddles his legs, opening her mouth more fully when his tongue slides over the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. She settles down on him and the moment the hard bulge of him rubs against her already aching center, they both groan.

She breaks the kiss on a gasp when his hips rock into hers. "_Fuck_."

"Absolutely."

His hand slides up her side, closes it over her breast and she drops her forehead to his. "We're going to kill ourselves."

"Death by sex?" He kisses lightly at her mouth, at the little dent in her chin while his thumb brushes teasingly over the tightening bud. "I don't know, seems like a pleasurable way to go."

"You would think that."

He is silent for a moment and she's so attuned to him, she feels the shift in his mood immediately. Instinctively, she knows she should back away, but she's anchored to him and her stomach tightens anxiously. His hand reaches up to cup her face and the gesture is so tender it makes her heart squeeze in her chest.

"I love you," he tells her.

She freezes because — _oh God_ — she can hear the expectancy in his voice, and it all surges up again — the same tired argument just getting ready to brew because he wants too much, the words she can never give him. "Killian-"

"I know you're scared, love," he says quietly. "I was frightened too…but I'm not afraid anymore. Loving you was easily the best decision I'd ever made in my life."

The tears come from out of nowhere, rising up with the emotions she tries so often to ignore and welling up behind her eyes. "Killian- I- _God_." It's too much, it always _too much_, and the fear chokes her. "You always do this!"

She pushes away from him, scrambles off of his lap to pace the living room in restless steps as desire shies back in place of blind terror. It's been building to this, all of the tension and frustration has been building to _this_ and she is not _ready_, damn it!

He sighs and from her peripheral vision, she sees him scrub at his face with his hand. "Do _what_, Emma?"

"_This_," she gestures at the open space between them. "Why can't we just _be_? Things have been going great and you just keep…trying to make things so much _more_ and so…_emotional_."

He rises, scowling at her. "What is so wrong about how we feel about each other? About wanting to express it?"

Her flight/fight mechanism kicks in and she wants desperately to run. "See, that's the _thing! _Why do we need to express anything? We already _know_ how we…feel…about each other. Why can't that just be _enough_?"

"Do you realize who we are?" His voice is hard. "The product of True Love and the man who spent _300 years_ avenging a lost love? What were we made for other _than_ to love, Emma?"

She swipes angrily at the tears on the cheeks, wondering how they had gotten to this point. She hates fighting with him, hates what he can pull from her with so little effort. "I don't want to do this right now."

"You never want to do this!" He moves to block her path when she starts for their bedroom. "Your fear and those bloody walls of yours and that damned stubbornness are keeping you from me." He gasps her arm and his touch is surprisingly gentle. His hand slides down to tangle their fingers together. "Stop running, Emma. _Please_."

His words hurt her, the truth of them, and she looks away, presses a fist to the spot under her breastbone trying to keep herself together — she's losing it, _fast_, and she's fucking terrified. _God_. "Would you stop pushing your feelings at me? Jesus Christ, Killian!"

"This isn't about me, Emma! It's about _you!_ It's about you and how you still keep me at arms length! There's still a part of your heart that you won't allow me into and do you know how much that _hurts_? Why won't you just bloody say it!" He takes a step closer to her. "_I love you_! Sometimes I think I've loved you since the moment you held that blasted knife to my throat! You're insufferable and stubborn and by the Gods, a fucking pain in my _arse_ — but I love you, Emma." His voice softens then and her heart lodges into her throat. "And perhaps it's my blessing and my curse that I always will, even if you never admit the same."

She turns to him and she knows it's a Goddamn mistake because the look on his face — the hurt and the grief — shatters her, and this time, when it wells up…it doesn't _stop_. The tears are there, spilling from her eyes as she glares at him with her chest so tight and the air backed up into her lungs.

"What do you want _from me_? What do you want me _to say_? That I need you? That I can't live without you?" She's yelling now, the emotions swirling around her head and making her ears ring from the intensity. She pulls away, needing breathing space, and returns to her pacing. "You want me to tell you that you've changed me? And you've made me a better person? That I've never felt this way about anyone? Like I'm just going to _fucking drown_ in my feelings any minute and I'm _okay_ with it?"

He's frozen in front of her, mouth slightly agape at her sudden outburst, clearly not expecting it. _Good_. She hopes he fucking chokes on his shock.

"You're an _idiot_! Worming your way into my life and my Goddamned _heart_! I never wanted this, okay? I never wanted to feel about anyone, about _you,_ the way that I do! _Yes, okay?_ _I am love with you!_ I _love_ you, you stupid pirate!" She sniffles, hands frustratedly wiping the wetness from her face. "I love you and your heart and the way that you love me back…I love how you always _know_ how I'm feeling even when I don't want you to. I love your tenacity and your courage and your stupid good form and your Godawful innuendos and the way you make me laugh and no, I can't live my damn life without you anymore and I hope you're happy because you've fucking _ruined_ me and-"

Her words are abruptly cut off with his mouth on hers, with his arms around her, and _GOD_. She feels everything from him, his emotions rolling off of him in waves — they envelop her, fill her up, mend her heart — and she can't breathe again. She's shaking, she can't stop shaking for the life of her, but her hands are everywhere on him — tugging at his hair, sliding down his arms, pulling at the hem of his shirt. She wants him, she _needs_ him right fucking now.

Her back hits the closest wall with a sharp _thump_ and the pain is bittersweet as he devours her. She moans into his mouth, her body bucking against him as he continues to destroy her with lips and teeth and tongue. The urgency is breathtaking, the desire between them snapping like a live wire, and she's so fucking _alive_ it physically makes her body ache.

She's finally let go, finally allowed him into all of her and finally given him the last remaining shard of the shattered heart he had so expertly put back together. It's freeing to be this way with him, to have nothing between them, and as they fumble with the rest of their clothes — shedding every last bit of hurt and anger and doubt — as his body sinks into hers, as hers moves in response, as their beating hearts find the same rhythm with their chests pressed together…there is only life and joy and _love_.

He braces her against the wall — the brace of his arm against her hip holding her in place while his hand presses beside her head to anchor them. He sets a rough pace that is simultaneously _too_ _much_ and _not nearly enough_, but Emma matches him stroke for stroke, one arm wrapped around his neck as her hand cups his face in her palm.

She breaks the kiss, crying out when he hits _that_ spot inside of her and her fingers curl into his hair. "_Fuck_," she hisses. "_Ohh- Don't…stop._"

He shakes his head, kisses her once more. "Tell me again," he demands, the words gruff and hot against her mouth while he continues to pound into her.

She whimpers, gasping and panting against his lips, rocking her hips harder into his. All of her muscles are tense as she races towards that golden-tipped peak and his requests echoes around in her head. She can no longer deny him, can no longer deny her heart, and the words tumble from her mouth like a prayer — or a plea, she can't be sure.

"I love you," she tells him. "I love you."

_This_ — this rough joining — is who they are, it sums up the way they love perfectly: passionate, all-consuming, _raw_…there are no flowery, poetic words, just feelings and fire and intensity, but the utterance of those three heavy words fuels the desire, adds one more layer of intimacy that she never expected and it's glorious and _beautiful_. There's no more anguish over the words, just light and warmth and as she shoots up into the stars, as he follows after her, there is only him — always and forever _him_.

Her chest is heaving when she comes back down and as the feeling returns to her body, she relishes in the familiar weight of him as he pins her to the wall, likes the press of his forehead into her shoulder while he catches his breath, loves the way they _fit_ like two once broken halves.

"There…that…wasn't…so hard…was it?" he pants, placing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her neck.

She chuckles lightly — sated, happy, _loved — _and runs her hands soothingly over his shoulders. "I don't know, it seemed pretty hard to me."

He lifts his head, brow quirked in that way it always is when he's amused, then his expression softens as their eyes hold for a long moment. "I love you," he murmurs.

Her heart sighs and she leans forward to brush her mouth to his, breathing the words over his waiting lips. "I love you too."

_Fin_


End file.
